


There is no me (without you)

by n_g_m_3692



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Season/Series 10, Slice of Life, fiona cameo bc I love her and miss her, lmk if I should tag anything else!, no smut bc I'm a lesbian so ew, there's no corona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_g_m_3692/pseuds/n_g_m_3692
Summary: An exploration of Ian and Mickey's respective insecurities and past trauma as we follow them through a tough couple of weeks as newlyweds.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 199





	There is no me (without you)

-—Ian, 7:37am

Cotton.

Fog.

Nothing.

Ian woke up to a feeling that was all too familiar, but just as unwelcome. He groaned softly, shifting under the heavy arm that was draped over his stomach.

“Mick,” he tried, voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. Mickey just grunted, settling deeper into their bed. “ _Mick,”_ he tried again.

Finally, Mickey’s eyes cracked open and he lazily tilted his head up to look out the window, then at Ian. “What fucking time is it, man?”

Ian just gave a non-committal shrug, begging Mickey to understand. He didn’t want to say it—didn’t know if he could handle the shame that was already threatening to engulf him. Mickey, a little more awake, scrunched up his eyebrows. He brought his hand up to stroke Ian’s cheek, and Ian was silently thankful that the weight of his arm was lifted off of him.

Mickey’s eyes were roaming around his face, searching for something. Apparently, he found it, because he lifted himself up and stared down at Ian, nervously chewing his lip. “Is it…?” Ian nodded before he could even finish, hating the tears that were already forming in his eyes.

Ian opened his mouth to speak but found that no sound came out. Mickey was still looking down at him with that tight expression on his face, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Ian grabbed his hand from where it was resting on his chest and squeezed it.

Mickey squeezed his hand back, expression loosening minutely. “Alright, man. Let’s get your pills and we’ll figure it out from there.” He stood up abruptly, letting Ian’s hand fall to the bed with a thud. Ian wanted to beg him to come back, he wished he had the voice to tell Mickey just how cold he felt without him, but instead, he just laid there, frowning at the ceiling like it was it’s fault his brain is broken.

-—Mickey, 7:40am

He stomped into the kitchen, barely looking where he was going. He only looked up when he almost ran into somebody. He irritably whipped his head up with a growl, to find Lip standing in front of him with his hands raised in the air.

“Woah, Mickey, what’s the rush?”

Mickey just sidestepped him, moving towards the cabinet to grab some bread. As he popped the bread in the toaster and poured himself a cup of coffee he heard Lip and Carl muttering behind him.

“I don’t know, man.”

“He seems even grumpier than usual.”

“You know I can fucking hear you right?” he scowled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, we know,” Lip said smugly. Mickey had half a mind to deck him right there but stopped himself when Lip’s expression softened. “What the fuck is going on Mickey?”

Mickey just shook his head, not knowing how to say it. He decided on tilting his head upwards towards he and Ian’s room and hoping they could figure it out.

“Oh shit,” Lip said as the wheels in his head visibly turned. “Is it Ian?”

“Yeah, genius. It’s Ian.”

“Shit, I’m sorry Mick.”

Mickey shrugged and moved back towards the toaster. “It’s fine, man,” he said unconvincingly.

Lip walked towards him, and Mickey bristled as he caught his signature ‘I’m smarter than you’ look on his face. “He’s gonna be okay, you know? He’s a lot better lately.”

“Yeah I fuckin’ know he’s gonna be okay,” he almost shouted, and he was a little proud at the way Lip stepped back. He sighed and lowered his voice. “It’s doesn’t make it any easier okay?”

“I know, Mickey.” Lip looked like he was going to reach out and touch him, but Mickey intercepted his hand in mid-air.

“Try to hug me and I’ll chop your hand off.”

Lip chuckled and grabbed a mug for himself, unfazed by Mickey’s threat. “Yeah Mick, love you too.” He said it jokingly, but Mickey couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth behind it.

“You,” he said sharply, pointing at Carl. “Bring this up to your brother. He’s not gonna want to eat but you better force it down his throat if he doesn’t.”

He raised his eyebrows when Carl didn’t say anything. “Got it?”

Carl grabbed the plate of toast roughly. “Jesus, I got it!”

“And bring him his pills from the bathroom!” he yelled at his retreating figure.

-—Ian, 7:46am

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

Mickey had left their door open when he went downstairs to get breakfast, and he could hear the water leaking from the bathroom sink. He had meant to fix that. He was going to do it today, after work. Just another thing neglected because he’s too weak to even get out of bed.

“Yo.” Ian lifted his head at the sound.

“Mickey asked me to bring up your breakfast,” Carl said as he walked in with a plate of toast in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

Ian flopped back on the bed, trying not to look too disappointed. Carl put the dishes on the table then left and came back carrying three pill bottles. After he set them down, he stayed, staring at Ian expectantly. Ian made a quizzical noise in the back of his throat and shooed Carl away with as much conviction as he could muster.

Carl chuckled darkly. “No can do, man. Mickey said to make sure you eat and ‘force it down your throat if you don’t’” Ian laughed a little at this, a small huff forcing it’s way out of his mouth against his will. “Your husband’s scary as shit, man.”

Ian laughed again and gingerly pushed himself into a seated position. He slowly took his pills and nibbled on the toast, pointedly avoiding Carl’s eyes the whole time. When he was finished he leaned back onto the bed and looked at Carl with his eyebrows raised.

Carl grabbed the empty plate from the table, brandishing it in Ian’s face. “I’m taking _this_ to show your homicidal husband so he doesn’t try to gut me in the kitchen.”

Ian watched him leave dejectedly, then at the last second, he decided to try his voice again. “Why isn’t he here?”

Carl turned around, stepping back into the bedroom. “What?”

“Mickey.” His voice was an ugly, scratchy thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh.” It was Carl’s turn to avoid his gaze. “He’s just getting ready for work, you know? Has a long day of beating up yuppies ahead of him.” He said it like a joke, but they both knew he was lying.

“Carl. Please.” _Just say it. My husband can’t even bear to look at me._

“I think he’s just worried, dude. I’m sure he’ll be up here soon and you guys can go back to making googly eyes at each other.” He turned around and zipped out of the door, eager to get away from Ian’s line of questioning. Ian couldn’t blame him. He wished he could do the same.

-—Mickey, 7:44am

Mickey turned around and saw Lip looking at him with a curious expression.

“What the fuck are you staring at?”

“Just wondering why you don’t want to bring breakfast up to your own husband,” he said casually.

Mickey flared his nostrils, trying and failing to intimidate Lip. “None of your fucking business, that’s why.”

“You do know we’re related now, right?” Mickey hated the way he was talking down to him.

“Yeah, I know we’re fuckin’ related. Doesn’t mean we’re gonna have a heart-to-heart and do each other’s hair.”

Lip scoffed, still looking at Mickey like he was an idiot. “Jesus. Is it really that hard to admit that you’re worried about Ian?”

Mickey just glared at him, and Lip glared back. Finally, he conceded.

“Fine. Yes, I’m worried about him. Of course I’m fucking worried about him. Is that what you want to hear?”

Lip shrugged, indicating with his free hand for him to go on.

“It’s just been a while since I’ve dealt with this okay?” he said defensively. “And the last time I tried I ended up with a bloody nose.”

“He’s different now. He’s finally stopped being an ass whenever anybody tries to help him.” He smiled like he was sharing an inside joke with himself. “For the most part, at least. Either way, he’s your husband, you can’t be scared to help him.”

Mickey clenched his fists at the word ‘scared’. “I’m not fucking scared.”

“No?” Lip challenged. “Then prove it.”

“I will!” He stomped back up the stairs, trying to ignore the smirk that was growing on Lip’s face.

He passed Carl on the way, who showed him an empty plate and looked at him for approval. “Fucking amazing. You managed to do a simple task without fucking it up. You want a medal?”

Carl rolled his eyes and continued down the stairs, muttering something under his breath.

Mickey took a deep breath in the hallway, steeling himself before he walked into the room.

-—Ian, 7:51am

Ian heard Mickey come thumping up the stairs and watched as he leaned nervously against the doorframe.

“I’ll call your work,” Mickey said after a few moments of silence. “Tell them you’re sick.”

Ian nodded, carefully observing the way Mickey refused to come into the room.

“I’ll call the clinic, too. Say your meds are fucked up or something and need fixed.”

 _Or I need fixed._ Ian thought ruefully. He draped his arm over his eyes, suddenly exhausted with the short conversation.

Mickey kept going, oblivious to Ian’s sudden disinterest. “We’ll get you an appointment for this week.”

Ian nodded one last time. This week. A few more days and then another new round of meds. And then another week or so of adjustment. And then another week dealing with the consequences of his low swing. And then the rest of his life. _The rest of me_ and _Mickey’s life,_ he reminded himself. _You roped him into this too._

He was so caught up in his own head that he barely noticed the bed dip next to him.

“Ian.” Mickey leaned over him, forcing Ian to look in his eyes.“It’s okay. We’ll be alright.” He said it with so much conviction, with so much truth in his eyes that Ian almost believed him. _Almost._

Mickey pressed a chaste kiss to his head. “I got to go. I’ll see you when I get home.” He lightly ruffled Ian’s hair. “I love you,” he said softly, like it was still the secret it had once been. _You shouldn’t,_ he wanted to say.

-—Mickey, 8:27am

He couldn’t sit still. He knew his obnoxious leg bouncing was bothering the stuffy woman sitting next to him on the train, but he didn’t care. He took account of the way she shifted a little farther away from his after catching sight of his knuckle tattoos and started bouncing it even harder. He smiled slightly at the way she stuck her nose in the air and huffily got up to move to the back of the train.

Reluctantly, he pulled out his phone, dialing up the number Ian had put in it when he got rehired.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” he said cautiously. He glanced around, making sure nobody was listening in, which was more of a reflex than anything. “This is uhh… Ian Gallagher’s husband.”

“Oh!”The lady —Sue, Mickey thought— seemed happy at his admission. “Mickey, right?”

“Right,” he said curtly, trying to get past the pleasantries as soon as possible. “He’s sick so he’s not coming in today.”

“Okay, I’ll let Rita know. Is it… bad?” she asked, concern apparent in her voice.

“Nah, it’s fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Right, I figured,” she sounded relieved, and Mickey wondered how much Ian had told her about him.

“Alright, well… bye.” He ended the call before she could say anything else, wondering if it had really been as awkward as he thought.

The call to the clinic went a little easier, mostly because it involved a secretary instead of one of Ian’s nosey coworkers. He shot Ian a quick text, letting him know his appointment was on Thursday, then settled back into his seat, still casting furtive glances around every few seconds.

He was grumpy at work all day, and he didn’t miss the way his coworkers were giving him a wide berth. He caught one of them staring and flipped them off before he could think of the consequences. He groaned as he saw his boss walking towards him.

“Hey, Mickey…” he said carefully, treating him like a wild animal. Mickey just grunted in response, keeping his eyes trained on a teenage kid who looked like he was canvassing the place.

“We couldn’t help but notice that something’s a little off today.” Mickey grunted again, hoping he could get this obnoxious do-gooder off his back. But apparently the fucker was persistent because he kept trying. “Is everything okay?”

Mickey snapped, whipping his head around so he was facing him. “No, everything is not okay. But I can do my fucking job, alright. You don’t have to check in on me or whatever the fuck this is.”

A couple of his coworkers were gathering around them, trying to inconspicuously listen in.

“That’s not— We just want to get to know you a little bit Mickey.” His boss, John, stuck a sickly sweet smile on his face that made Mickey want to wretch.

“Yeah,” started one of his other coworkers, some kid that worked in the tech department. “I mean we’re all like a big family here. We just want you to know that.”

Mickey scoffed. “I already got one, thanks.”

John jumped onto the small personal detail like a vulture. “A family? That’s great! Do you and your wife have kids?”

“Wife?” He asked, already zoning out of the conversation.

“Yeah, your wife,” he said gesturing at his ring. “You never talk about her.”

Mickey snorted when he realized what they were talking about. “Yeah, there’s a reason you’ve never heard about my ‘wife’.”

“Oh,” John’s face turned pitying. “Are you not together anymore?”

“What? No!” Mickey groaned, mind working a thousand miles minute to find a way out of this conversation. He looked around at all of their prying faces and decided to just be honest. After all, that had worked out okay for him so far today.

“My ‘wife’,” he said, putting air quotes around the word. “Is a dude named Ian. I’m ‘grumpy’,” he used air quotes again, “because he’s sick all right? Now can you all fuck off so I can do my job?”

He carefully watched their expressions, panic building up in his stomach when he realized what he had just done.

“Oh,” John said awkwardly, and Mickey clenched his fists, ready to fight if he had to. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.” Mickey relaxed a bit but kept his eyes on his coworkers for any sign of ill-will.

“I’m sorry to hear about your husband, Mickey. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

Mickey nodded tightly, only relaxing once his coworkers had all dispersed. He cracked his knuckles and tried to focus on anything but Ian and his glassy eyes and limp hair.

-—Ian, 8:15am

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The house was quiet and Ian found himself longing for the noise. The mind-numbing noise that made the outside world louder than his head for once.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

He longed for the days when he was the life of the party. He knew he was even more fucked up back then but, still, he missed it. He wasn’t Ian, he wasn’t Monica, hell, he wasn’t even Curtis. He was nobody. Another no-name dancer with eyeliner smudged on his face and music thumping in his ears. Nobody held him there. Nobody told him it was all gonna be okay. Nobody loved him there. And he reveled in it. You can’t hurt people if they don’t know you, right? You can’t get lost if you already have no home.

Yeah, he had to let people feel him up night after night. Yeah, he was disgusted with himself every time he looked in the mirror. But at least he wasn’t hurting anybody. At least Mickey wasn’t looking at him with those beautiful, sad eyes, all but begging him to get better. At least the only drugs in his body were the ones that he chose. At least the men touching him liked him for something solid and tangible, like his body.

Mickey liked him for everything else, too. And no matter how hard he tried, Ian couldn’t comprehend that. How can Mickey love him when he’s barely even a person half the time? How can Mickey love him when all he’s going to do for the rest of his life is drag him down?

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

He closed his eyes and let himself be taken back there. To a life of too-loud music, and flashing lights, and back-alley tattoos. He’s lost in the waves, sharing an off and on relationship with reality. He barely sleeps, barely eats. He’s teetering on the edge of life and death and he loves it. But even there, Mickey shows up, ready to drag him back into the real world. Ready to love him and care for him like Ian always wanted.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

He tried again, transporting himself to another lifetime. He’s lost again, trying to find a purpose. He finds it and, for the first time since high school, he knows what he wants out of life. At least he thinks he does. But he’s ignoring something—walking through life with a shadow clouding his every move. Mickey breaks out, offering to whisk him away yet again. He refuses, lying to himself about the Mickey-shaped hole in his heart.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

He fucked up, again. He thought he had everything, but it turns out he had nothing. No Mickey. No mother. No purpose. He got swept up in his grief, allowing it to consume him. All he wanted to do was help people. Kids like him and Mickey, lost and scared. He just wanted to help but he got caught in the grandeur of it all, telling himself there was a higher purpose when really it was just him, doomed to repeat his mother’s life of chaos. Mickey’s here, too, saving him from himself for the thousandth time.

 _Why does he keep coming back? Doesn’t he understand? You’ll never be enough for him,_ he scorns himself. _You tried to tell him this, but he wouldn’t listen, he convinced you that maybe you could be._ Til death do us part _, he said._ Til death do us part, _you said. Why did you let him convince you? Why did you encourage his delusion?_

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The room was filling with water, he could see it clear as day, but he knew it wasn’t really. It was his mind playing tricks on him again. He knew this but still allowed the water to wash over him. He felt it snake it’s way into his lungs, pushing all the air out. _This is what you’re doing to Mickey. It’s only fair that you have to feel it too._

He couldn’t breathe. Maybe he didn’t want to anymore.

He floated for an eternity, arms and legs numb as they lay useless at his sides. He heard someone downstairs, muffled through the water.

 _Don’t come upstairs,_ he begged. _I don’t want you to drown too._

 _-—_ Mickey, 6:00pm

 _“_ Hey,” he nodded at Sandy as he walked through the door.

Sandy nodded back, keeping her eyes trained on the TV.

He flopped next to her on the couch, nervously bouncing his leg again. “How was he?” he asked, slightly afraid of the answer.

Sandy turned to look at him, smiling softly. “He was fine, Mick. Just slept it off all day.”

“Did he eat at all?” He cringed as he said it, and could only imagine how pissed Ian would be if he heard him talking to Sandy like she was his fucking babysitter or something.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I tried but it looked like he could barely move.”Mickey threw his head back and ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“He did take his meds though,” she added, though it was a small comfort.

Sandy didn’t say anything else, and Mickey was grateful. He wasn’t sure how much kindness he could take in a day. He sighed deeply, then hoisted himself off the couch. He was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was lie down next to his husband.

If today were a different day, he would do just that. Ian would see his face and know just what he needed. He would lead him upstairs to the shower and gently run his hands through his hair, washing the day out of it. Then he would take him to bed and hold him, waiting patiently for Mickey to tell him all about it.

Mickey already knew what he would say. How he would rant about his obnoxious co-workers and how he accidentally-on-purpose outed himself. Ian would laugh as he talked, and try to mask the proud expression on his face. They would probably bang, then promptly pass out from exhaustion, laying as close together as possible.

Mickey shook his head violently, purging the thought from his head. It wasn’t about him today. Today, he just needed to be there for Ian.

 _-_ —Ian, 6:15pm

“Hey.” He heard Mickey’s voice from the doorway and wished him away. He wanted to push off this conversation as long as possible.

Mickey didn’t pick up on his silent prayer, or he chose to ignore it, and climbed into bed next to him, keeping room between himself and the lump under the sheets that was Ian.

“I’m sorry, Mick,” he said, voice coming out more broken than he would have liked. He was still facing the wall because he knew he would never have the courage to say what he wanted to if he was looking into Mickey’s eyes.

Ian heard Mickey turn his body towards him, then felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, urging him to turn around. “For what?”

Ian shrugged his hand off but turned around nonetheless. “For this,” he said, gesturing to his pale, tearstained face.

Mickey’s brow was furrowed, and he shook his head as if a simple gesture could ward off all of Ian’s demons.

Ian sat up straighter, a new determination guiding his words. “Don’t you ever wish that you were with somebody else? Somebody who isn’t sick?”

Mickey’s head was still shaking, but there was a new sadness in his eyes. “No.”

Ian kept going. He needed to make him understand. “I know you love me but—“ he was cut off by Mickey roughly grabbing his face. He pulled Ian towards him until there was barely any space left.

“There’s no ‘but’ Ian. I love you. Simple as that.” Ian scoffed, surprised at the way Mickey could make something so complicated seem like the easiest thing in the world.Mickey pulled him closer still, rubbing soft circles into Ian’s cheek. “You get that right?”

Ian pulled Mickey’s hand off his face by the wrist. “I want to.” He brought Mickey’s hand to his lap, letting it lay there. “But sometimes I wish you didn’t.”

Mickey snatched his hand away by instinct. His face twisted into something bordering on angry. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” he started, looking down at the spot that Mickey's hand had been moments before, “that sometimes I wish you loved somebody else. Or that we never met.” He glanced up at Mickey but had to quickly look back down when he caught the broken look on his face.

“Oh…” Mickey’s voice was low, and Ian recognized the sound of tears brewing just below the surface.

“That way I couldn’t hurt you.” The words tumbled out of this mouth, and he kept his gaze stubbornly downcast. Mickey sucked in a sharp breath, understanding dawning on him. He lifted Ian’s chin with his thumb.

“Ian, you’re not hurting me.”

Ian blew up, letting his exasperation get the better of him. “Yes, I am! Every single fucking day!”

“All you’ve ever done is make me happy!” Mickey’s raised his voice to match Ian’s volume, and Ian flinched at the sudden intensity. Mickey had dropped his chin and was talking with his hands, gesturing wildly in the space between them. “You think I didn’t know what I was getting into here? What the fuck do you think ‘in sickness and in health’ means?”

“I know what it means,” Ian mumbled.

“Then what? You think I was lying?” 

“No! I think I never should have married you!”

Mickey’s mouth fell open slightly and he was staring at Ian like he was seeing a ghost. He closed his mouth quickly, breathing heavily through his nose.

“I was being selfish, Mick,” he explained calmly, glad for once that all of his emotions were slightly numbed. “I’ll never be enough for you, and the sooner you realize that the better.”

Mickey abruptly stood up and started cracking his knuckles as he stomped towards the door.

“Damn it, Mick, where are you going?” he called after him desperately. He couldn’t walk away. Not before Ian was done.

Mickey turned back around, glaring holes into Ian’s head. “I can’t sit here and listen to this bullshit!” He looked angry, but Ian knew the truth. With Mickey, hurt and anger were almost identical.

“I’m trying to give you an out here!”

“Well, you can keep it, Gallagher. I don’t fucking want it! You’ve tried this shit on me before, remember?” He didn’t wait for Ian’s answer. Of course he remembered. “It didn’t stick.”

Ian crossed his arms over his chest, stubbornly glaring back at Mickey. “So what? We’re gonna stay married even if I don’t want to?”

Mickey huffed, and for a second Ian thought he was gonna yell. But then he visibly deflated and moved to sit on the edge of their bed. His eyes were cast downward, and he was fiddling with his wedding ring, twisting it and twisting it and twisting it. Ian waited with bated breath while Mickey clenched and unclenched his jaw.

When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Ian, if you wake up one day and decide you don’t love me anymore, I’ll leave. Of course I’ll fucking leave.” He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, turning to lock eyes with Ian again. “Is that what you want?”

Ian didn’t say anything. If he was stronger he would say, _Yes. It is. I don’t love you and I want you to leave._ But he wasn’t strong—he was weak, so he just stared back at him, face carefully neutral.

“Ian, look me in the eyes and say you don’t love me anymore and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Ian just stared, watching as Mickey’s face became more rigid and less scared. Finally, he sighed, letting his shoulders slump.

“I can’t.”

Mickey crawled towards him, an elusive smile gracing his lips. “Then it looks like you’re stuck with me, Gallagher.”

“Mickey…” Ian started, but Mickey clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Just don’t, okay? Let’s just go to bed.” Mickey’s eyes were so desperate that Ian couldn’t stomach the thought of breaking his heart anymore. He nodded against his hand, then shifted back under the covers.

Mickey let out a sigh and joined him, still keeping his distance. They turned towards each other and stared, hands inches apart on the bed.

“You’re—” Mickey cut himself off with a muted grunt. He closed his eyes and set his jaw.“You’re fuckin’ it for me. There’s nobody else.” He reached down and brushed his fingers over Ian’s. “I don’t want nobody else. I thought that was obvious when I married your vampire-lookin’ ass.”

Ian rolled his eyes at the comment and watched the moonlight dance over Mickey’s face with a sense of wonder. God, he was beautiful. And perfect. He was everything Ian had ever wanted. He wished more than anything that he could be everything Mickey deserved.

“You’re it for me too, Mick.” He smiled as memories danced across his mind. “You’ve always known that haven’t you?” Mickey nodded slightly, and Ian knew he was thinking about the same things he was.

“I love you, you know,” Ian whispered, loving the way three simple words made Mickey’s whole face light up.

“Yeah,” he said through his smile. “I love you too.”

Ian reached up and stroked his hair, smiling fondly as Mickey’s eyes slowly closed.

In his half-asleep state, Mickey muttered, “It was all worth it, you know?”

Ian leaned forward and kissed his forehead before wrapping his arms around him, the way he knew Mickey loved. “Yeah, Mick,” he said against his chest. “I think it was.”

****

-—Mickey, 7:00am

Mickey woke up to soft kisses pressed to the back of his neck. He smiled into his pillow and hummed quietly, reaching behind him to lightly tap Ian’s head.

“Good morn—” he was cut off by Ian roughly flipping him over and climbing on top of him, a smile on his face. Mickey hadn’t realized how much he had missed the sight of Ian grinning at him in the morning.

Ian swooped down and caught him in an open mouthed kiss, hands pressing into his shoulders.

When he pulled away, Mickey grumbled, “Jesus, at least let me wake up why don’t you?”

Ian responded with another kiss and an even bigger smile when he pulled away. “I’m going into work today.”

“Already? It’s only been 3 days since they adjusted your meds.”

Ian smoothly sat up, still straddling Mickey’s chest. “I’m fine Mickey. Really.”

“Alright, man. If you say so.” He trusted Ian, and if he said he was good, he was good.

“I do,” Ian said as he lowered himself back over Mickey. “I do say so.”

Mickey glanced quickly at the clock, then back at Ian with his eyebrows raised. Ian nodded at him, then swooped back down to kiss his neck, left hand reaching for the bedside drawer.

-—Ian, 9:00am

“Ian!” Sue caught sight of him and instantly dropped what she was doing to walk over to him. She cupped his cheeks and studied his face. “How are you?”

Ian rolled his eyes but didn’t push her off. “I’m fine. I’m really sorry about last week.”

Rita emerged from the back room and waved him off. “It’s fine, Ian. Not like you blew us off. We got this strange call from this man _claiming_ to be your husband, saying you were sick.”

Sue laughed too, and Ian looked between the two of them, wondering what he was missing. “What did Mickey say?”

Sue was still laughing as she dropped her hands from Ian’s face and moved to grab her coffee. “Not much. Honestly, it kinda seemed like he didn’t want to admit he was your husband.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that, Gallagher? He hate being married to you that much?” Rita asked teasingly.

Ian laughed too, picturing a grumpy Mickey talking to his kind coworkers. “No, we just…” he paused not knowing how to explain everything. “He still gets nervous sometimes. It wasn’t always easy for us when we were kids.”

“Kids?” His other coworker, Aidan, popped up from the bench he was sitting on, joining the conversation. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Since I was fifteen,” he admitted, smiling at the look of shock on their faces.

“Jesus…” Sue said, then she raised her eyebrows, putting a hand on her hip. “Wait a second, is this the same guy you almost ran off to Mexico with?”

Ian looked down, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. Then he nodded and Sue completely lost it.

“Oh, man!” she cracked up. “I should have known. You were totally whipped for the guy.” She turned to Rita and Aidan. “He faked sick one day just so he could go see him.”

“After he escaped from jail,” Ian added, which only made them have more questions.

“Jail?”

“Like _jail_ jail?”

“You were gonna run away with him to Mexico?”

“How did he escape?… Wait, what was he in for?”

“You’re married to the guy now?”

Ian just smiled, waving off their questions. “It’s a long story, okay?”

“Well we’d love to meet him, wouldn’t we guys?” Sue said with a shit-eating grin on her face. Rita and Aidan nodded, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, I don’t know guys…”

“Come on Gallagher! I’d love to meet the guy who finally tied you down!”

After a lot of pleading, Ian conceded. “Fine, I’ll _ask._ But I’m not promising anything. I’m not sure if you noticed but he’s not really the ‘go out for drinks with your husband’s coworkers’ type.”

“Whatever,” Sue said as she clapped his shoulder. “I’m sure all you have to do is bat your pretty eyes at him and he’ll do whatever you ask him to.”

Ian scoffed, but he knew she was right.

-—Mickey, 6:03pm

“‘Sup, rugrat?” He walked into the kitchen to find Liam sitting at the table hunched over his homework.

“Hi,” he said offhandedly, singularly focused on his work.

Mickey was headed upstairs when he heard Liam slap his hand down on the table. He turned around, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“I was supposed to make dinner tonight, Lip’s working late. I got caught up in my homework and—”

“Relax, dude. I’ve got it.” He walked back into the kitchen reluctantly and started rifling through the cabinets.

“Thanks, Mickey.”

“Whatever, man. If I don’t do it, who will, right?” he said as he placed a pot on the stove, the lie slipping easily out of his mouth. Truth is, he would do anything Liam asked him to, due to the inconvenient soft spot he had for the kid, even if he would never admit to it.

Soon, Debbie came home with Franny, who promptly ran to clutch his leg, yelling “Uncle Mickey!”

“Hey, Little Red.” He awkwardly patted her head, then went back to stirring the spaghetti on the stove. He had a soft spot for her too, which he knew was a direct result of her being the spitting image of Ian. But again, nobody needed to know this.

“Dinner’s gonna be ready in a bit,” he said to nobody in particular.

Ian came home just as he was serving out, bounding through the door to give Mickey a soft peck on the cheek. “I heard you made dinner,” he whispered into Mickey’s ear. “Thanks.”

“Whatever. It’s just spaghetti,” he said dismissively, shoving a plate into Ian’s hands.

As they all settled down to eat and chatter about their days, Ian nudged Mickey under the table.

“Hmm?” He mumbled through a mouthful of spaghetti.

“I uh… may have told Rita and Sue that you would come out for drinks with us after work someday.”

Mickey froze, then turned to glare at Ian. “You what?”

“You heard me.” He nudged him again. “Come on, it’ll be fun. They’re all dying to meet you.”

“All?” Ian closed his eyes and groaned. Obviously, he hadn’t meant to let _that_ slip. “How many people are we talking about, Gallagher?”

“Oh, just a few…” Ian was glancing around the table, looking for an out. Mickey raised his eyebrows, daring Ian to lie. “Fine, Mick. Like four or five. However many people are working that day.”

Mickey groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. “Gallagher…”

“Please?” Ian was looking at him with wide eyes, the way he knew Mickey couldn’t refuse.

“Ugh!” he exclaimed, causing Debbie to look at him in alarm. “Fine! But only so you shut the fuck up about it.”

Ian grinned at him like he just promised him a million dollars. “Thank you,” he whispered as he leaned in for a kiss.

Mickey pushed him away, and flipped him off, going back to his food. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian happily eating, still wearing that goofy expression on his face.

Mickey stuffed his face so Ian couldn’t see his matching smile.

-—Ian, 2:00am

“Are you awake?” he whispered into Mickey’s hair. When he didn’t answer, he ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair until he blearily opened his eyes.

“Ian what—” he noticed the time and quickly twisted around to look at Ian. “Is something wrong?”

Ian shook his head and Mickey slapped his shoulder. “Then what the fuck are you waking me up for?”

Ian dramatically rubbed his shoulder. “Ow!”

“I barely touched you. Now let me sleep.” He turned back around and nestled into Ian’s chest.

“Wait! I woke you up for a reason.”

Mickey slowly sat up until he was eye level with Ian. “This better be good.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Ian mumbled.

Mickey groaned loudly and sunk back into the bed. “Ian, stop.”

“Let me finish.” Mickey didn’t say anything, so he took that as his cue to continue. “I’m sorry for trying to break up with you.”

He glanced down at Mickey and found that his eyes were open again. “I just… I got all caught up and— and I got scared and— god, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to put up with this.”

Mickey pushed himself back up, then climbed onto Ian’s lap, grabbing his face in his hands. “Enough, Ian. I’m not doing this again. We’re fucking _married_ now, we don’t gotta be scared.”

Ian took a deep breath and closed his eyes, leaning into Mickey’s hands.

“But…” Mickey started, playful tone overtaking his serious one, “you ever try to dump me again and I’ll give you something to be scared about.”

“Oh?” Ian cocked his eyebrow. “Is that right, tough guy?”

Mickey nodded, then grabbed Ian’s shoulders and slammed him down on the bed, pinning him under his knees.

Ian struggled under his grip, and eventually managed to get an arm free. He reached up and looped it around Mickey’s neck flipping him so he was lying next to him. He climbed on top of him and pinned his hands above his head, breathlessly staring down at him.

Mickey squirmed under him, but it was no use. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

“I don’t know why you even try at this point,” he said smugly.

“I guess all that stupid ROTC shit actually did do something, huh?”

Ian laughed and let go of Mickey’s hands, sliding down to lay on top of him. “I guess it did.”

“I’ll get you one day, Army,” Mickey said softly, bringing his hand up to rest on Ian’s shoulder.

“Sure Mickey… Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He wrapped his arm around Mickey and threw his leg across him. They both caught their breath, and Mickey ran his hand up and down Ian’s arm, making his eyes droop closed.

“No more fuckin’ apologies.”

Ian was silent for a moment, then he whispered, “I’ll try,” wishing he sounded more convincing. It was the best he could do, and he hoped Mickey understood. 

“Unless you wanna apologize for telling your coworkers I’d meet them.”

Ian chuckled. “Nope, I’m good.”

Mickey groaned. “Whatever, man,” he said through a yawn. “Now, are you finally gonna let me get some fuckin’ sleep, or do I have to stay up all night with your stupid ass?”

“Go to sleep, Mick.” He settled into his chest. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled. “Love you, too."

****

-—Mickey, 1:05pm

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Dude where are you?” came Carl’s voice from Mickey’s phone. He sounded out of breath, like he was running.

“At work…” he said slowly. “Where the hell else would I be?”

“You got a gun on you?” Mickey quickly looked around, making sure nobody was listening to his call.

“Of course I don’t have a fucking gun on me,” he hissed into the phone.

“Shit dude,” it sounded like Carl finally came to a stop, and Mickey heard him trying to catch his breath.

“You gonna tell me what the fuck you’re talking about, or am I just supposed to guess?” He was getting annoyed, and his coworkers were all starting to eye him.

“Your dad.” Mickey’s stomach dropped.

“What about him?” he asked with a shaking voice.

“On one of my routes I saw him and a couple thugs loading a bunch of shit into a van.” He dropped his voice, “Uzis and shit.”

“Okay, so? He does that shit all the time.”

“I heard him talking, Mickey.” He sucked in a breath. “About you and Ian. Said he was sick of you running around with a fuckin’ rainbow flag, ruining his reputation.”

“Fuck.” Mickey’s hands were shaking now, and he had to fight to keep the phone to his ear.

“I don’t know where they went, but it sounded like they wanted to do this today. Should I call the cops?” 

“No,” he scoffed. “You think they give a shit? They’ll probably be hoping we take each other out. Two less criminals on the street right?”

“Should I tell Ian?”

 _Ian._ “No!” A couple of people looked over at him at his outburst and he waved them off, putting his best fake smile. “Just get to him okay? You got a gun?”

“Nah, man. I’m going straight now.” Mickey clenched his jaw to avoid yelling every curse word he knew at the kid who was just trying to help him.

“Alright,” he said, voice deliberately calm, “well get back to the house and grab one of mine. Get to Ian okay?”

“Okay.”

“And don’t you fucking dare let anything happen to him.” He hung up the phone before Carl could say anything and started pacing, a thousand scenarios running through his head.

-—Ian, 1:31pm

Ian was sitting at work, playing cards with Sue as they waited for a call. He was losing his third game of go fish in a row when he was snapped out of focus by a banging at the garage door.

“What the fuck?” he asked Sue. She just shrugged and started counting up her cards, smiling smugly.

He opened the door to find Carl standing there, looking like he just ran a marathon.

“Carl?”

Carl marched in without answering, indicating for him to close the garage door.

“Carl, what the hell is going on? Are you hiding from the fucking cops or something?”

“No! I’m going straight now, remember?”

Ian scoffed. “Yeah because we all expect that to last.”

Carl flipped him off and reached into his pocket. “Shit Carl is that—” he glanced at Sue, who was curiously eyeing them. He grabbed Carl by the shoulders and dragged him into the back room. “Is that a fucking gun? What happened to the straight and narrow?” He chuckled as he said it, but the smile fell from his face when Carl just stared at him.

“Carl _what_ is going on.”

Carl gave Ian a look suspiciously close to pity, then said, “It’s Mickey.”

“Wha—” Ian was cut off by Sue bursting into the room.

“Gallagher!” Both Ian and Carl turned to look at her. “ _Ian._ We got a call, come on.”

Ian followed her out of the room, tugging Carl with him. “You’re coming too.” He shoved Carl into the back of the rig then jumped in after him. 

“Carl you better tell me what the fuck you’re talking about or I swear to god—“

“Alright, Jesus! I’m tired of getting threatened by you fucking dumbasses just let me talk!” Ian took a deep breath and gestured for Carl to go on. “I overheard Terry talking about killing you two and called Mickey.” Ian’s eyes widened and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. “He told me to come to you.”

“What the fuck, Carl! Why didn’t you call me!” He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn't do anything except yell. “Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know! He hung up! I rushed over here to protect you!”

“I don’t need protection! He does!” He was bouncing his leg. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“Gallagher!” Sue’s voice came from the front, “You need to calm the hell down!”

Ian laughed, a little too high-pitched, and a little too forced. He dropped his elbows to his knees and cradled his head. Laughing at the idea that he could ever calm down when for all he knew he was a fucking widower.

The rig came to a stop and Sue jumped out, coming around to open the back and grab her supplies.

“You need to get him out of here,” she addressed Carl, but Ian picked up on her tone. She was scared, but whether it was for him or _of him_ he couldn’t tell. He felt Carl’s hands on his shoulders and let himself be guided out of the ambulance.

He whipped his head up when Carl muttered, “Oh shit.” His stomach dropped when he caught sight of the body laying in a growing puddle of blood.

Sue was knelt over Sandy, who’s eyes widened when she saw Ian and Carl. Ian ran over to her before Carl could stop him.

He immediately started accessing her for injuries other than the one on her leg, running through the checklist in his surprisingly clear head. When he was done he helped Sue get her onto a gurney and into the rig, ignoring Carl and Sue’s stares.

“Sandy, what happened?” he asked quietly, trying his best to pretend that she was just any other patient.

She was running her hands through her hair, eyes far away. “Fuck— I don’t—I don’t know.” Ian squeezed her hand encouragingly, ignoring the growing pit in his stomach. “I was with Mickey and—”

“Is he okay?” Sandy didn’t answer him and he raised his voice again. “Fuck! Sandy, is he okay?”

Sandy was looking at him with wild eyes, then, slowly she shook her head.

“What do you mean, Sandy, what happened?” Ian heard Carl ask, but it was muffled. Ian noted with detachment that he felt like he was floating through water again.

“He called me and told me what was going on. I grabbed a couple of guns and went to meet him at work. Terry he— he shot me and grabbed Mickey. I’m so sorry Ian I have no idea where he took him… Ian, did you hear me?”  
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything. He wasn’t anything. Smoke in the form of a human, maybe.

 _Please,_ he thought, sending a prayer upwards even though it had been ages since he believed that anybody was listening. _Please let him be okay. Bring him back to me._

The rig came to a stop and, still, he didn’t move. He heard chattering and felt Sandy’s hand slip out of his grasp.

“Ian…” Lip’s voice broke through the water. “Carl called us. Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He was using his big brother voice and Ian wanted to go with him just so he would stop, but found that he couldn’t move. The water had turned to ice and he was stuck. He watched three fat water droplets fall to the ground by his feet and wondered where they came from. It took him a while to realize that they were his own tears.

“Ian, come on.” Lip’s hand was on his shoulder and Ian didn’t know how to explain the ice to him. “The police want to talk to you…” His voice faded out as Ian watched more tears fall to the floor. _Drip. Drip. Drip._ “…Mickey—”

The ice cracked. Just enough for Ian to turn and look at Lip. “Mickey?”

“Yeah, Ian, Mickey.” Lip’s eyes were sad, and he was talking to Ian like he was a child. “I was just saying that the police are doing everything they can to find him.”

“Oh.” He turned back to the floor. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

“Do you have any idea where Terry might have taken him?” _Terry._ Ian shot out of his seat, and the cold, cold ice was replaced with an untamable inferno.

“Woah, Ian, where are you going?”

Ian jumped out of the rig, shaking off Lip as he tried to grab his hand. “I’m going to find Terry and put a fucking bullet in his head like I should have done in the first place.”

He passed his siblings as he marched towards the street, ignoring their shouts. Debbie intercepted him, holding her hands out in front of her with a scared, pleading look on her face. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that look. It was the same one she had worn when he swung a baseball bat at her, all those years ago. She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own breathing.

Carl joined her, then Lip. They were all staring at him apprehensively, like he was dangerous. _Maybe I am,_ he thought darkly. _Maybe that’s what Terry deserves._ Finally, Liam walked up to them, holding Franny’s hand. She shrugged out of Liam’s grasp and walked up to him, tugging on his arm.

“Uncle Ian,” she said, ignoring all of them shushing her and trying to pull her away. “What’s wrong?”

At the sound of her small voice, he snapped out of his rage and lowered himself to the ground, bringing his shaking hands up to her shoulders. “Something happened, Fran,” he whispered. “To your Uncle Mickey. I’m gonna find him and bring him home.” _And kill the person who did this to him._

“Uncle Mickey?” There were tears welling up in Franny’s eyes. “Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, blinking back the tears in his own eyes. Franny noticed this and moved forward to wrap her tiny arms around his neck.

“I hope he’s okay,” she muttered against his chest.

“Yeah, kid, me too.” He lifted himself back up and held her to his chest, letting himself take a breath for the first time since Carl showed up. He glanced at his siblings, who looked significantly less panicked than before.

“I need to find him,” he said, begging them to understand.

“I know. We will.”Lip placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “But you gotta keep a level head, Ian.”

The fire was a pile of dying embers now, he could feel the heat just under his skin, but it no longer overwhelmed his senses. He clenched his jaw and lowered Franny to the floor. “You have an idea?”

Lip raised his eyebrows and smiled. “It’s a long shot but… I might be able to track his phone if he still has it on him.”

“Lip…” he said, not believing what he was hearing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I might have to call up some old pricks from college, but I think it could work.”

Ian roughly pulled him into a hug, then shoved him off just as quickly. “Go!”

Lip headed away from them, already pulling up somebody's number on his phone. As he walked away he gestured to Debbie and Carl, then at him. Ian understood. _Watch him. Make sure he didn’t do anything crazy._

He sat down on a bench between Debbie and Carl, bouncing his leg up and down. The only thing keeping him sane was the vision of finding Mickey safe and sound. And the one of Terry laying dead on the floor. Up. Down. Up. Down. Mickey. Terry. Mickey. Terry.

-—Mickey, 2:05pm

He woke up to pain. Blinding searing pain. The kind that makes your vision white out and your breath get caught in your throat. He tried to calm himself down, to figure out where he was, but all he could focus on was how much it fucking hurt.

Voices faded in and out as he struggled against his binds. “Turn right…no…serves him…son of a…fuckin’…Gallagher.”

 _Gallagher? Ian._ His mind cleared just enough that he could take in his surroundings. He was moving, probably in a van. His arms were tied and there was tape over his mouth. His head was pounding.

Slowly, he remembered. Carl’s call. Telling him to find Ian. Sandy. Terry. _Ian. Ian. Ian. Fuck_. He needed to get out of here. Find Ian. Make sure the son of bitch he called a father didn’t do anything to him.

He hit his head on something as he tried to get his hands free and let out a muffled cry. The last thing he saw before he passed out again was Terrys face looming over him. He brought the butt of a pistol down with a _crack_ and he was out again.

 _-_ —Ian, 2:32pm

Lip came bursting into the hospital room, animated and loud. Ian stood up quickly, and bounded over to him, scanning his face.

“Do you know where he is?” _Please, please, please._

Lip nodded, showing Ian his phone, where a map with a small blue dot could be seen. _Mickey._

“Dumbass didn’t even bother to toss his phone!” Lip said gleefully.

Carl scrunched up his face. “Where the fuck is that?”

Lip shrugged. “Some place near the border. Less than an hour away, let’s go.”

“You guys aren’t seriously just going to go after him yourselves are you?” Tami asked from the doorway where she was awkwardly standing, just removed from the rest of the family.

Debbie stood up from where she had been sitting vigil at Sandy’s bedside. “Of course we’re fucking going after him.”

“Yeah!” Carl said enthusiastically. “It’s been forever since we’ve had a good search party.”

Lip looked apologetically at Tami, who looked downright terrified. “Who knows what he’s doing to him, Tami. The cops can’t do shit until we file a report and that could take hours and even then who knows if they’ll be able to track him down legally.” She didn’t look fully convinced. “He’s family,” he added, softly.

Tami looked at Ian, and he let all of his desperation show in his face. She sighed and pulled out her car keys, handing them to Lip without meeting his eyes. “I’ll watch the kids.”

Ian gave her the biggest smile he could manage and they all stepped out into the hallway and raced towards the car.

-—Mickey, 3:22pm

This was it. He was gonna die in some abandoned cabin, surrounded by stolen guns and smuggled drugs. He laughed quietly to himself, completely delirious with pain. It was always how he imagined he would die when he was a scared kid with no hope for the future. Then this obnoxious red-headed kid burst into his life and made him think that maybe, just maybe, he was worth more.

_Nice try, Gallagher. Guess some people really are just born to die._

It was what his dad had always told him. _Some people were put on this earth to do something,_ he would say, looking down at Mickey with a sneer. _And some were born just to waste space. Guess which one you are?_ Then he would laugh, and the sound would echo all through the house. He would hit him sometimes, too, if he was in a particularly bad mood. He would clock Mickey on the mouth so hard he would bleed, and that sound would echo too.

He closed his eyes as the sound echoed in his mind, and he was just as terrified as he was a lifetime ago. He tried to think of nice things like he would when he was a kid feeling this way. Usually, it didn’t work, because he could never think of anything. But one day that changed and suddenly, for the first time in his whole life, he had something to numb the pain.

He would think of dorky smiles and soft hands and bright red hair. He would think about hot summer days and cool nights, of their fingers brushing as they exchanged cigarettes.

He felt a pang in his chest when he thought about Ian. His hands were itching to hold him. He wanted more than anything to wake up in Ian’s arms—to have him brush his fingers through his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him. _It was just a dream,_ he would say. _I’m right here. You’re okay._

It had happened before, maybe it could happen again. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to wake himself up. When he opened his eyes and saw the dank cabin he slumped in his chair.

He should have known. Mickey wasn’t the type of person who got good things. Ian was a good thing, and he had been stupid to think that he would have been allowed to have him. He cursed himself for believing. A happy ending for him was always a pipe dream, something he thought about to get himself through long nights in jail, or longer nights stuck in his house married to a woman he didn’t love. It was never supposed to become a reality, at least not for long.

He heard a thump from behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terry’s hulking figure coming towards him.

He closed his eyes as Terry yelled at him, spouting all of the same things he had heard since he was a kid. He imagined he was hearing Ian’s voice instead, the soft one that he used when it was just the two of them.

 _I love you, Mickey,_ Ian was saying. _More than anything._

When he felt a bullet pass through his shoulder, and then his chest, he barely registered it.

 _-_ —Ian, 3:22pm

“We’re almost there.” Lips voice snapped Ian out of the daze he had been floating in. He clenched his jaw and looked straight ahead, reveling in the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“What’s the plan?” Carl asked from the backseat.

“Yeah it’s not gonna be easy to just run in there and grab him,” Debbie sounded nervous, but Ian couldn’t think up any words of encouragement for her.

“Okay, um…” Lip trailed off, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Listen up, here’s the plan…” he trailed off again and Ian looked at him with wide eyes. “Fuck! Hold on just let me think okay? It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this. And plus we don’t know if he’s even—”

“If he’s even what, Lip?” Ian asked through gritted teeth.

“Conscious,” Lip responded carefully.

“Fuck you, it doesn’t matter.” Ian turned around and addressed Carl and Debbie. “You want a plan? Here’s the plan. Debbie, you stay in the car and keep it running. Carl, grab your gun and when we get there you create a distraction okay? Once they’re gone, me and Lip will slip in and grab him. Sound good?”

Lip frowned at him. His plan was incomplete and shaky, but if they noticed, they didn’t say anything. Ride or die. That’s what Gallaghers did for each other. Ride or die.

“He’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, talking to nobody but himself.

“Of course he is, man,” Carl chimed in from the back. “This is Mickey we’re talking about. Dude’s like a fucking cockroach or something.”

He felt a hand on his elbow and turned around to see Debbie smiling at him. “Carl’s right, Ian.”

Lip glanced over and smiled at him, too. Ian took a shuddering breath and tried to believe them, knowing he wouldn’t make it if they were wrong.

-—Mickey, 3:40pm

“Mickey.” He couldn’t see anything, and he vaguely registered the feeling of his hands being untied. Two strong, gentle hands pulled him up, and then his face was being smushed into somebody’s chest.

“Mickey!” He was dreaming. He was sure of it. That was the only explanation for the voice that was washing over him.

“Mickey! Fuck! Please open your eyes!” _I can’t._

“You’re gonna be okay, okay? We’re almost there just— just hang on.” There were water droplets falling onto his face, and when one slid into his mouth, he realized they tasted salty for some reason.

“Please, Mick!” The voice was getting more and more desperate, and Mickey wished he could make it stop. A voice that beautiful should never sound so sad. “I love you! Just please hang on.” _Okay. I’ll try. For you._

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a moan.

“He’s getting worse! Hurry the fuck up!” _I’m sorry. I’m trying._

His eyes opened a crack and he focused on the sight of red hair and green eyes fading in and out of blackness above him. His head was resting on somebody’s lap and their hands were pressed into his chest, right over the spot that hurt the most. He wished he could remember the person’s name. He knew they were important but his mind wasn’t letting him remember their fucking name.

“We’re here. Just hang on a little longer,”

The voice was joined by others. People yelling and jostling him around. He missed the soothing sound. _Come back. I can’t do this without you. I lo—_

He fell back into the blackness.

-—Ian, 5:54pm

“Mr. Gallagher.” He stood up on shaking legs, begging his knees not to give out from under him.

The nurse walked over to him, regarding him kindly. “Your husband is still in surgery. He sustained some serious head injuries, and the surgeons are working to make sure there’s no internal bleeding or permanent damage. There’s also the matter of the bullets. The first one was a clean shot, straight through his shoulder, so it shouldn’t cause any problems, but the second one is lodged next to his heart. They’re trying to repair the damage and stop the bleeding, but it will be a while before we know more.”

“Know more?” he asked quietly. Beside him, Lip stiffened as he leaned into his side. “You mean…”

“Your husband came in in critical condition, Mr. Gallagher. We’re doing everything we can, and I promise you that I’ll let you know the second he’s out of surgery.”

Ian nodded numbly and slumped back into the chair he had been in for the past two hours.

Time crawled by, and he felt like he was moving through gelatin. Everything was slow and blurry. His adrenaline had worn off hours ago, and he was left with a hollow feeling in his very core.

 _Permanent damage. Bullets. Bleeding._ Things were making less and less sense to him as time passed by. His hands were shaking and his head was heavy and god, he needed Mickey.

When the nurse came back out, he struggled to take in her words, but he assumed they were good based on his siblings’ reactions. He allowed himself to be led through the hospital and into a room, where Mickey was laying under a pile of tubes and machines.

He walked over to him and stared down at him, reaching out a hand to brush the hair away from his forehead. He half-expected Mickey to open his eyes, to smile warmly at him and drag him down to lay next to him. But instead, he laid there, perfectly still, looking very, very _dead._

His knees finally gave out from under him. Before he even realized what was happening he was on the floor and everything was much, much too quiet.

-—Ian, 8:13pm

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

He slowly opened his eyes and the first thing he noticed was how much his head hurt. The second thing was that somebody was holding his hand. He looked down at them, gasping when he was who it was.

“Fiona?”

“Hey, Sweet-cheeks!” She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“What— What are you doing here?”

“Lip called me. I hopped on a plane as soon as I could.”

He squeezed her hand, silently thanking her for coming. Then, he looked around, taking in his surroundings. It was a few seconds before it all came back, and when it did, it hit him like a truck.

He sat up, trying to get himself out of bed. _Mickey._

Fiona pushed him back down. “Slow down, baby.” She stood up and drew his curtains back, revealing Mickey, who was in the same place Ian had left him.

He flopped back on the bed, biting back the tears in his eyes. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours. They said you were really dehydrated. That coupled with the stress was just too much for your body.”

Ian chuckled darkly. That was the understatement of the year. “How is he? The nurse was trying to talk to me but I— I didn’t catch what he said. Is he…”

“Oh Ian, no. He’s stable for now. I’ll get the nurse to tell you but yeah… he’s out of the woods for now.”

Ian let out a sharp breath, sneaking another glance at his husband. “Can I go see him?”

Fiona nodded and helped him out of bed, putting him in the chair next to Mickey. She leaned down and rubbed his shoulders, whispering, “I’ll go get the nurse.”

He smiled at her again, then turned his attention to Mickey, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise up when he looked at his crumpled body.

A few moments later, the nurse came in, followed by his siblings. She pulled up a chair next to him and spoke to him in a low voice like she didn’t want to startle him.

“Your husband’s in a medically induced coma right now, Mr. Gallagher. The surgeons were able to fix most of the damage done by the bullets, but the biggest concern was his head injury. We think that once the swelling goes down we’ll be able to wean him off of the drugs. Then, hopefully, it’s just a matter of time before he wakes up.”

“Hopefully?” he asked miserably.

“There’s always the possibility that a patient won’t wake up. Especially if they received multiple traumatic injuries like he did. It’s a lot for the body to take—” She stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of Ian’s face. “But your husband is a fighter, Mr. Gallagher, that much is obvious.”

“Can I… talk to him?” The question sounded stupid even as he said it but the nurse smiled kindly at him like she was used to it.

“Of course! We have no way of knowing, but there’s some evidence that coma patients can hear. There’s even some that it helps them wake up.”  
He turned towards Mickey and grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”

The nurse turned around and quietly left the room and Ian heard people come to sit around him.

“Ian.” Ian didn’t respond, but Lip went on anyways. “They caught him. They caught Terry.” Still, Ian didn’t say anything.

“Apparently after he went back into the house and found Mickey gone he tried to run. They caught him up in Wisconsin,” Debbie explained.

“They caught him for speeding of all things,” Fiona laughed. “Well that and attempted murder, but that came later.”

“Yeah, the cops aren’t too happy with us, but we didn’t technically do anything illegal so the only one getting booked here in Terry,” Carl said proudly.

“Nothing that they can prove,” Lip corrected.

“Ian,” Fiona placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “This is good news.”

“No it’s not,” he croaked. “It doesn’t fucking matter. Not if Mickey doesn’t wake up.” His fire from before was completely burnt out. He couldn’t imagine even thinking about anything other than Mickey, much less caring about his piece of shit dad.

After a few seconds of silence, Fiona spoke up “Okay, guys why don’t we leave Ian alone for a little bit?”

The rest of them filed out, but Fiona lingered for a second and Ian looked up at her, gazing into her kind eyes for the first time in months. “Fi, I—” She cut him off and dragged him into a hug.

“I know Ian. He’ll pull through. I just know it.”

Ian let the tears fall, soaking the back of her shirt. “Thank you for coming, Fi. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for this.”

“Don’t be, I’m the one that told you to go. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

She stood back up and ruffled his hair, then left him alone.

For the first time, he looked at Mickey. Really looked. His chest and shoulder were completely bandaged, and there were goosebumps covering the skin that Ian could see. He stood up and pulled his blanket up higher, smoothing it down gingerly over his bruised chest. He brushed his fingers over his face, tracing over every bruise and cut, all the way up to the bandage at his hairline.

“God, Mickey,” he whispered. “Please come back to me. Terry doesn’t get to win, okay?”

He sat back down and grabbed Mickey’s hand, gently bringing it up to his lips.

“I’m right here. Waiting for you.”

 _He might not wake up,_ his brain reminded him. He immediately shook off the thought. That wasn’t an option. He just didn’t work without Mickey, and he’d known this simple, indisputable fact since he was fifteen. He kicked himself for every second he spent trying to deny it.

If Mickey died, he died. There was no other way— no life where he could possibly live in a world where Mickey didn’t.

“Please, Mickey. If you can hear me just—” his voice hitched as he choked on his tears. “Just don’t die.”

****

-—Ian, 10:13am

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The drugs plopped into Mickey’s IV in neat little droplets. He watched them fall, then travel up the tube and into Mickey’s arm. He found himself wishing, for the hundredth time in three days that it was him in the bed instead of Mickey. Or better yet, that nobody was in the bed at all. All he wanted was Mickey, alive, talking, cursing. Being _Mickey._ Not the hollow shell that was lying lifelessly on the bed.

His siblings had been taking shifts being with him, but most of them had jobs to get back to in Chicago and couldn’t afford to get up to the hospital they had taken Mickey to. He was secretly thankful for the fact. He didn’t want them to see this, especially not Liam and Franny. He couldn’t stand the way Franny looked at him when she asked how Mickey was, or how Liam tried to be strong for him.

Lip, Carl, and Debbie did their best to hide their sad, pitying looks, but Ian saw them anyways. The only one he could really stand to be around was Fiona, mostly because she did all the heavy lifting. She sat by him and told him all about the new life she had forged for herself. She didn’t expect him to respond, and hardly ever urged him to get up and walk around like the others did. She understood why he couldn’t. The only thing she did was make sure he was taking his meds, which he did without complaint. He knew it was what Mickey would’ve wanted.

He had a rare moment alone, where all of his siblings were back in Chicago, except Fiona, who had gone out to get food. He stroked Mickey’s hand and let the silence wash over him.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

He spoke, and let himself pretend that Mickey was talking back.

“Hey, Mick. It’s been 3 days since… well you know. I’m um— I’m doing okay.”

_That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it, Gallagher._

He scoffed. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie but I’m trying. I’m trying to be strong for you. I know you wouldn’t want me to be a huge mess.”

_Nah, fuck that. Be however you want to be. Not like I’m awake to see it._

He sucked in a long, shuddering breath. “I miss you, Mickey. I mean look at me,” he gestured to himself, even though Mickey couldn’t see it, “talking to myself like a crazy person.”

_You are a crazy person, dumbass. But so am I, I guess. Probably why we work._

“I need you to wake up, okay? I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

_Fuck you, I’ll wake up when I wanna wake up._

Ian sighed loudly. “Fine, take your sweet time. I’ll just be here, waiting, wasting away.”

_Now you’re trying to guilt me? Low blow, Gallagher, low blow._

Ian laughed hollowly. “Sorry, but I’m getting desperate here.”

Fiona walked back in, holding a bag of food. She sat down next to him, observing his position. “You talking to him again?”

He nodded and leaned back in his seat. “I don’t know if he can hear me but… it helps, somehow.”

“I get it.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll bet he can hear you.”

“Yeah?” He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “What are you willing to bet?”

“A week’s worth of White Castle.”

Ian smiled at her and held out his hand. “I’ll take those odds.”

****

-—Ian, 9:45am

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

“Hey, Mick. It’s me again. I bet you’re tired of hearing my voice by now huh?”

He waited for Mickey to respond, but it never came. In the past few days, he’d been having a harder and harder time remembering what Mickey’s voice sounded like. It broke his heart because, foolishly, he had thought that even if Mickey was gone he would at least have his memories of him. Looks like he was wrong.

“The doctors weaned you off the drugs yesterday, but you already knew that. Apparently, that means you should wake up soon, but they’re refusing to give me an exact time frame. Just ‘soon’. Well soon or not at all, I guess.”

He lapsed into silence, not even wanting to think about it. He searched around for something else to talk about, grinning when he thought of something.

“Hey, do you remember when we first met? Not like _first met_ first met but the first time we talked. It’s pretty hard to forget I think. I mean we really have a hell of a story don’t we?”

He looked at Mickey’s hand, at the ring glinting on his finger.

“You know I used to lay awake and fantasize about the vows I would say at our wedding. This was before we were even talking about getting married. Back when I was just a crazy kid and you were working your ass off trying to hold me together.

“When you started talking about having a _wedding_ wedding, I thought about it again. I’m actually glad we didn’t do personalized vows. They’re way too, well, personal.” He smiled at his own joke. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about what I would say, you know? You wanna hear them?” He took a deep breath, then started reciting the words from memory.

“If I could go back in time and tell my fourteen-year-old self that I was gonna marry Mickey Milkovich, the little fucker probably would have laughed his ass off. Because there’s no way that _Mickey Milkovich_ would even look at him, and he definitely wouldn’t marry him. If I told my fifteen-year-old self, he would look at me all hopeful, telling me to stop pulling his leg if I didn’t mean it. I was in love with you then, you know? Ever since you almost beat me up over a gun,” he added that last part, wondering if he could wake Mickey up with the sheer power of nostalgia. Then, he went on, barely taking a breath the whole time he spoke. “If I told my seventeen-year-old self, he probably would have smiled and nodded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because it was, to him. And that hasn’t changed since then.

“You and me, Mickey? We were always inevitable, there was just no way we wouldn’t end up together. I’m not saying we didn’t go through shit, or that I didn’t put you through hell sometimes, but none of that mattered. It was always you and me. _You and me._ ” He had to stop because he couldn’t talk anymore through his tears. He brought Mickey’s hand up to his face and held it there, begging him to just _please wake up._

“God,” came a rough voice from above him, “you are such a fucking pussy.”

Ian whipped his head up, wondering if this was a cruel trick. “Mickey?” he whispered.

“Who the fuck else would it be?” Mickey was smiling down at him, and his eyes were bright, and he looked _alive._

“Holy shit.” Ian jumped up and roughly wrapped his arms around him, breathing in his scent for the first time in forever.

“Be careful, man! I don’t know if you heard but I was fucking shot!” Mickey yelled, gently lifting Ian a few inches off his chest.

“I’m sorry I just— I can’t—”

“Yeah, I know, you miss me and you’ve loved me since you were fifteen, blah, blah, blah.”

Ian turned to stare at him, part mortified, part ecstatic. “You heard all that?”

Mickey nodded, cocking an eyebrow. “Mmhmm. Every word. All the way from ‘when I was fourteen’ to ‘you and me’ and all the pussy shit in between.”

“Fuck!”

Mickey looked at him, alarmed. “What?”

“Nothing I just,” he sighed dramatically. “I owe Fiona a shit ton of White Castle.”

Mickey frowned at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He waved him off. “Nothing, I’ll tell you later. I’ll tell you everything later.” _Later._ They had a later now— a tomorrow, a next week, a next year, a whole fucking lifetime.

“Uh huh,” Mickey pushed him off of him with shaking hands, so that Ian was sitting in his lap. “So since you were fifteen huh?”

Ian rolled his head back and groaned. “Fuck, you’re never gonna let me live this down are you?”

Mickey shook his head, and Ian leaned forward to kiss the smug look off his lips. When they broke away, Mickey was still smiling, but it was softer, almost lovestruck, even though Mickey would kill him if he ever heard him call it that.

Ian jutted his chin and glared at him. “Never do that to me again.”

“Not exactly my choice,” Mickey said under his breath.

“I know but just— don’t okay?”

“Okay,” he said sarcastically. “Whatever you say.”

“I was so scared Mickey I—” Mickey caught him in another kiss.

“I know,” he mumbled against his lips. “Me too.”

Ian pulled himself off and gingerly wormed his way under the covers, ignoring Mickey’s complaints that the bed was too small.

Once they had settled in, he brought his hand back up to stroke Mickey’s face, drinking in the way the color was slowly returning to it. “I love you so much.”

Mickey sunk further into the bed, grabbing Ian's arms and wrapping them around himself. “Love you, too.”

-—Mickey, 4:00am

When he woke up he was back in the cabin. He looked desperately around for something, anything that would make this make sense. Because, _no_ , he wasn’t supposed to be there. He screamed, but no sound came out.

His breath was coming in short, tight staccatos and he squeezed his eyes shut in a weak attempt to calm himself down. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a bed. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow. _It was just a dream._

Somebody was kissing him, and he smiled into it, mumbling a quiet, “Morning,” against their mouth. Except— _No._

He snapped his eyes open and pushed the person off of him, jumping out of bed, getting as far away from them as possible.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Svetlana asked from where she was laying on his bed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He scrambled backwards and promptly tripped over something on the floor.Somebody roughly lifted him and shook him, turning him around to face them.

“What the fuck are you doing laying on the floor like some pussy? Get the hell up and kiss your wife.” Terry shoved him back on the bed and grabbed a gun from his dresser. He pointed it at his chest, and Mickey was frozen under it.

“Where’s Ian?” his voice came out like a scared child, and his dad started laughing. The big, full-bellied laugh that Mickey learned early on should be feared.

“Don’t you worry, son,” he said around a sneer. “You’ll see him soon enough.”

Before Mickey could realize what he meant, the bullet passed through his chest, and everything was dark all over again.

-—Ian, 4:23am

He woke up to screaming. His eyes flew open and he looked over to Mickey in a panic. He was thrashing around in the small bed, threatening to push Ian out of it.

“Mickey!” He gently put his hand on his shoulder, trying to wake him up. Mickey flinched away from the touch and Ian pulled away.

“Mickey! Mickey, it’s me. It’s Ian, wake up!”

At the sound of Ian’s name, Mickey’s eyes snapped open and his eyes roamed over his face, still stuck in a far-off place. Ian shifted further back on the bed and grabbed his hand.

“Mickey, it’s me. You’re okay.” Finally, Mickey’s eyes shifted into focus and he sucked in a sharp breath. He pulled Ian in and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“You were dead,” he whispered into his hair.

Ian frowned but didn’t let go. “What?”

“It was fuckin’ Terry. He shot me again and said I’d ‘see you soon’ or some bullshit.

Ian leaned back a bit and gently cupped Mickey’s face. “He’s gone, Mick. The bastard’s gonna rot in jail, okay?”

Mickey nodded, but his face was still pale, and there were still tears running down it. Ian squeezed his face tighter and steadied his breathing. He hated that Mickey was still feeling like this, hated that his piece of shit dad still had power over him. He wanted more than anything to wrap Mickey up in his arms and protect him from everything bad in the world. Instead, he settled for leaning down and kissing the tears off of his cheek. Mickey pushed him off when he realized what he was doing.

“Fuck off,” he chuckled as he wiped the tears off his face.

Ian chuckled too, and pushed them both down on the bed, laying one last kiss on Mickey’s cheek before falling asleep.

****

-—Mickey, 8:38 am

“Big day today!” Mickey groaned loudly as Fiona stepped into his room with a huge smile plastered on her face.

Beside him, Ian murmured in his sleep, wrapping his arms tighter around Mickey.

“Shut up,” he said gruffly, “you’re gonna wake him up.”

“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re telling me you're not happy to finally get out of here?”

“Of course I fuckin’ am. Just don’t see why we have to make a big deal about it.”

“Maybe,” Lip said as he marched into the room. “Because we were worried about you and we’re glad you’re okay?”

“Fuck off, you’re just sick of having to drive all the way up here.”

“God, Mickey, you really can’t just take a compliment, huh?” Lip asked, smiling as Mickey flipped him off.

“Glad to see his personality hasn’t changed,” Debbie whispered to Carl and he nodded at her. He flipped them off too, earning a chuckle from the nurse as she walked in.

“Good morning, Gallaghers.” They all greeted her and she walked over to his bed, smiling warmly down at Ian. “He hasn’t left your side at all, has he?”

Mickey shook his head, then leaned down to kiss Ian’s forehead. “Come on, sleepy-face, wake up.”

Ian slowly blinked his eyes open, peering around the room. When he caught sight of Nurse Rose, he sat up straighter, running his hands through his hair a little. “Shit, sorry!”

“It’s fine Mr. Gallagher. I’m glad to see you’re getting some sleep,” she said kindly.Mickey was glad too— he was starting to get worried about him. Last night was the longest he’d seen Ian sleep since he woke up, and that was a week ago.

“So,” Fiona said, taking charge as usual. “We can take him home today?”

Nurse Rose walked over and checked his charts and vitals, reading through everything carefully while they all watched. Finally, she nodded. “Yep. The doctor will need to sign off on it but as far as I can tell, you’re good to go Mr. Milkovich.”

“Gallagher,” he corrected her. “I don’t want that bastard's name anymore.”

Ian beamed at him, leaning over to kiss his cheek.“You ready to go home, Mr. _Gallagher?_ ”

“Hell yes, I cannot _wait_ to leave this shit hole,” he said enthusiastically, then he looked over at Rose apologetically. “I mean no offense but…”

“None taken,” she laughed as she headed out the door. “I’ll have the doctor come in right away.”

“Mickey Gallagher, huh?” Fiona asked, looking fondly at the two of them. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He pulled Ian down into a kiss, flipping her off over his shoulder.

-—Ian, 10:43 am

They were inches apart in the shower, and Ian let his hands run over the huge scar on Mickey’s chest, tracing his fingers up to the circular one on his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, man. Not the first time I’ve been shot, remember? This is nothin’.”

“First time you almost died,” he said without thinking. Mickey froze and he snapped his head up when he realized what he had said.

“Shit, I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

“It’s fine. You’re right.” He was avoiding Ian’s eyes and Ian brought his hands up to frame his face, slowly pushing his chin up.

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, Mickey.” He smudged a drop of water off his cheekbone. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Well hopefully,” Mickey grabbed him by his waist and pulled him closer, “we won’t have to worry about that for a while.”

Ian scoffed. “Knowing us? Probably not.”

“Fuck that, we’ll be fine,” he said sharply, like he was trying to convince himself too.

 _Maybe Mickey’s right_ , he thought. Terry was in jail, and he wasn’t going to get out any time soon. Sandy got out of the hospital a week ago, with nothing more than crutches and a bad attitude. Fiona was home, and she said she was there to stay, at least for a while. Mickey was in his arms, whole and solid. Maybe this time they were safe.

He pushed his forehead into Mickey’s, closing his eyes and reminding himself that Mickey was real. “I love you so much, Mick. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you—“

“But I _didn’t.”_ Mickey cut him off. “Let’s just promise not to kick the bucket before we’re like ninety or something, alright?”

“You think you’re gonna make it to ninety? With your smoking habit?” Mickey pushed him off and glared at him.

“Fuck off. I bet I’ll outlive your dumbass.”

Ian laughed, and Mickey joined in, and they both pretended that, for a minute, they weren’t scared shitless of losing each other.

When the last of the laughter fell from his mouth, he pulled Mickey into a soft kiss, taking his time to let it say everything that he couldn’t. Mickey did the same, and they stayed in the shower long after the water had run cold. They fit together like two halves of one whole, just like they always had.

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever stop framing my fic titles (like this)? Probably not. Title is from Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths, go give it a listen if you want a good cry.  
> Anyways I hope you all enjoyed this, I definitely had a good time writing it. I've always thought canon should explore their insecurities and past trauma a bit more, so this felt like a good way to do it.  
> Please leave a comment, it means a lot!


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